The Epic Tale of an Epic Ponytail
by cassowary
Summary: The year was 1864, the place was Kyoto. In the center of the madness of the Bakumatsu, the Shinsengumi seeked to protect the Shogun and keep the peace in their ancient capital. And with the Shisengumi was one head of hair that had the power to change people's lives-to change history itself.
1. Prologue

Author's Note: I can't believe I'm doing a multi-chapter on this, but a while back, I talked to FrenchieLeigh about the possibility of writing a story starring Harada Sanosuke's hair (not even Harada himself).

It might take me a while to update, but I really couldn't resist this, and I hope there's some interest here.

And thank you, FrenchieLeigh.

It was really something else.

_What?_ You may ask_._ _What could it be, that is so unique and wonderful that it's worth reading an entire story about?_

Well, friends, the answer to that question would have been simple and self-evident, had you been around to see it. It shook Kyoto with awe as the beautiful capital was bathed in the raging red blood of the Bakumatsu and the streets were like rivers of the dead.

_What could it be?_ You may ask, a tad bit impatiently. You may start guessing, perhaps. _Is it the hitokiri Battousai, perchance? Or the Shinsengumi?_

Close.

We should probably start from the beginning.

Once upon a time, there was a head of hair that belonged to a man in his early twenties. The man was indeed a member of the Shinsengumi at the time, and he himself was no eyesore, but his hair...it was _godly_.

Some people said that Hijikata Toshizou was a demon. Others claimed that Kondou Isami had once been a farmer (which was, in fact, true).

Some said that Okita Soushi was the strongest swordsman of the Shinsengumi.

Some said that Saitoh Hajime was immortal.

And some starry-eyed worshipers claimed that Harada Sanosuke's hair was in reality a demon crow spirit sent to Kyoto by Fate and Amaterasu herself.

Saitoh Hajime hated patrolling with Harada because of this—people would stop them in the streets and wax poetic about his fellow captain's hair as he stood by coldly and rolled his notably unnoticed golden eyes with exasperation. Okita Soushi didn't mind these occurrences so much, as it was always kind of funny to watch his friend get mobbed and Hajime stand ignored in a corner, so to speak.

And Harada? He was a low-key kind of fellow who didn't really let it get to his much-adored head at all. As he put it, "It just kinda happened that way, so I don't really care...now, my seppuku scar, now _that's_ a hell of a lot cooler...wanna see?"

Indeed, not to say that Harada was not a proud man, but he just preferred to be proud of things he actually worked to get, which was an admirable trait in itself. However, it did not necessarily stop him from enjoying the trappings of his popularity. His hair helped him get into many a kimono (and, rumor had it, hakama) on nights when business was slow.

Now friends, you might say: _This is all well and good for Philandering Chill Guy Harada, but why? Why would his hair be so astonishing and inspiring that it could turn the manliest man bent? What the hell did that admired hair even look like?_

To this day, nobody knows how that fabulous, enigmatic demon-crow-spirit hair achieved its peculiar style, as fellow Shinsengumi captain Nagakura Shinpachi, survivor and writer of memoirs failed to document his comrade and friend's hair styling ritual. However, historians generally agree that it was not actually deliberately styled, due to Harada's vague quote mentioned earlier. Some conspiracy theorists even like to believe that it was fashioned by extraterrestrials who infiltrated Shinsengumi headquarters overnight for the sole purpose of taking over the world via artistic hair styling prowess. Believers in the occult tend to buy the Amaterasu story of the Hallowed Hair.

During Harada's time, common consensus was that the hair had a mind of its own.

But I digress.

The hairstyle has not been actually photographed, but was discovered in a long-lost illustration by the assassinated Shinsengumi leader Serizawa Kamo, likely drawn for entertainment purposes. Unlike the mysterious styling process, Nagakura Shinpachi did, in fact, write an entire detailed description of the hair's appearance in his final memoir:

_He must have been sakayaki for some time before we met; his hair was shorter in front but stuck about in all manner of directions, black as a crow's though it rose up like a rooster to greet the sun in the early dawn._

_However, this indicated nothing of the rest of his hair; he neither trimmed nor tied it in a topknot as is custom, but rather let it fall smoothly to the level of his obi in a long tail; therefore in its entirety it bore a close resemblance to a flamboyant, shining blackbird._

And if Nagakura's words and Serizawa's artwork rings true, then it surely must have been a sight to see.


	2. The Discovery

Author's Note: Featured in this installment is blood, character development, some Hitokiri Battousai, Saitoh being an ass, and sappy romance (which I apologize for, it's not my thing). Try to enjoy!

_July, 1864_

Talk rang above the previous whispers in the streets as the Shinsengumi marched, proud and tired, through the city. The blood on their swords and spears; staining their blue _haori_ and the occasional bandaged head or limb made it quite clear that there needed be no rumors any more.

The Shinsengumi had spent the night raiding Ikedaya, apprehending ronin, and in the morning, the people of Kyoto did not bother to lower their voices as they called the passing company murderers.

Hitokiri Battousai, known to some as Himura Kenshin, stood silent in that crowd, nerves on end.

Saitoh Hajime grinned down at him, and he could see Okita Soushi close behind, as well as the man that ambled between the two, a fellow captain. The young assassin could not quite remember his name, Harada something-or-other, but he knew that the Shinsengumi captain fought with a spear and had a personality quite as bad as Saitoh's.

Oh, Himura respected the Shinsengumi captains, most of them, but that by no means prevented him from actually _disliking_ them. And maybe he needed to get some more sleep (ha), but he could have _sworn_ he saw the most peculiar object swinging from the end of the Tenth Unit Captain's abnormal hair before Okita took an extra step forward and blocked both natural art _and_ said mysterious object from view.

"...You sound almost like you're planning to _marry_ him, Saitoh-san," Okita teased lightly, casting a glance back at the short but prominent figure back in the crowd.

"I mean, '_our fates are bound together_' and such? You fooled me, I thought you liked Yaso-san."

The tall captain's shoulders stiffened visibly under his _haori_ and his friends could see his mouth had tightened into an even thinner line than before at the thought.

"I didn't say that; you did," Saitoh answered sourly, still struggling in his ability to take a joke gracefully, but that's what friends are for, right? "And it's not really _your_ business whom or _what_ I like, most of all, being left alone."

This prickly response could not deter Okita Soushi, swordsman and irritant extraordinaire.

"Hajime-san and Hitokiri Battousai, a match made in heaven, don't you think, Harada-san?"

Harada, who had been strolling along with marked nonchalance, the bloodshed from Ikedaya not even having managed to wilt the ever-present bamboo sprout clenched in one corner of his mouth, swiveled his gaze over at his leisure—surely you understand his disposition, now!—and raised one raven eyebrow in careful consideration as he looked into the youthful, disturbingly bloodstained face and sparkling dark eyes of his fellow.

"Nah, not really," he answered finally in his unpleasant, raspy voice.

"Not really?" the younger man echoed, visibly deflated.

"And why not?"

The spearman nodded meaningfully at Saitoh's back just ahead of the other two and tilted his head.

"Because if Saitoh-_chan_ married Battousai, then I suppose that would probably mean he actually _did_ like the little bastard a bit, knowing how stubborn he is. And if Saitoh-chan cared about Battousai, then he'd be pretty pissed if I killed him after all..."

"Though," he added thoughtfully, his face slowly lighting up with a grin, "If I fought Battousai, and pissed off our very own darling Hajime-chan, then I'd probably get to end up fighting _him_, too, which would be _double_ the fun."

"Oh my," Okita intoned, brow furrowed with a slightly worried expression, "I'm not quite sure I follow entirely. I just wanted to know if you thought they could find eternal bliss together or not..."

Tilting his head the other way, the subtle movement of his hair thus rendering oohs and aahs from the crowd as he took time to reconsider, it was several moments before Harada took a second attempt at appeasing Okita's idle fancies.

"Hm, let's say...I don't really care _who_ Saitoh likes, just as long as he doesn't fall for a possessive old cow or Takeda-san" (every Shinsengumi captain and troop within earshot shuddered visibly at the name) "But if he starts drooling over Choushuu dogs like Battousai, I'll look forward to fighting the lovebirds at the same time. Sounds fun, don't it?"

Nodding, Okita clapped his hands briskly.

"I see!" He exclaimed in his clear, thin tenor. "Even though I don't really want to kill Saitoh-san, I do like sparring with him, and Kondou-san says that Battousai is quite the threat to the Bakufu—"

Turning oh-so-subtly in mid-step, Saitoh cut his short friend off with a killing glare in his blazing golden eyes.

"Fortunately, none of this will ever become a legitimate reason for concern, seeing as I, not _you_, Harada, will be the one to kill Battousai once and for all; no romantic entanglements attached. Okita-kun, I _pray_ you keep your pointless hypotheses to yourself."

"Oh, you're no fun, Saitoh-san."

"Yeah, maybe if you actually took part in some of our discussions, you'd at least _seem_ more normal and the women would like you better."

There was a little more murder in Saitoh's eyes than necessary as he answered in a voice frosty as that of Hijikata himself.

"Unlike _you_, I am actually _engaged_ to Yaso-chan and do not just use a bizarre hairstyle as a crutch in lieu of an unattractive personality."

Okita winced—that was below the obi, so to speak, but Harada just rolled his eyes.

"_Now_ he tells us—congrats, enjoy the wife, you happy now? But at least I don't have to stand on ceremony to get some ass."

Okita winced again—it was one thing hearing Saitoh talk about it because they were the same age, and he himself had visited the pleasure quarters on occasion as well, but it was just _weird_ listening to Hijikata and Nagakura and Harada talk about it because it was like learning about his older brothers' conquests—just _awkward_.

"_My_ Yaso-chan is _more_ than mere _ass_, Harada," Saitoh growled at the older, somewhat shorter man...Okita sighed to himself and tuned the other two out as they bickered. It sure was a long walk back to headquarters.

The captains were cleaning off at the well when they finally noticed anything amiss. Harada's good friend, Nagakura Shinpachi, had just finished scrubbing his face, careful to avoid messing up his pride-and-joy topknot or soak the bandage on his injured hand, when he glanced over at the spear-wielder's unbound hair (he was interested in a number of quirky things, such as hair, actually).

"Hey, Sano, don't dump that bucket—!" He suddenly exclaimed, his serious black eyes widening dangerously as he moved with near-godlike speed to knock the bucket out of Harada's hands before he could empty the cool water over his glorious head.

Unfortunately, the fallen vessel managed to make its way onto the toes of scowling Saitoh Hajime, thus involving him as the much-feared Takeda Kanryuusai pouted a ways away, disappointed at being denied the sight of Harada Sanosuke clad only in a white _fundoshi_ and soaked from head to toe.

"What the hell, Nagakura?" both Saitoh and Harada barked in unison, finally agreeing on something without Okita's help (Okita himself was getting checked up with a doctor at this moment, due to his collapse in the inn the night before).

"Wait a second," the Second Unit Captain ordered, slipping seamlessly from his usual offbeat persona to that of his Military Police Force incarnation, "you have something in your hair," he then explained further, grabbing at the long black strands with his good hand.

"Oh, that," Harada said coolly, still rolling his beloved bamboo sprout between his teeth, "I always forget to check." He was used to people touching his hair and relatively relaxed about it; and Nagakura Shinpachi was that kind of a person anyways.

"You mean, you never wash it or anything," Saitoh interjected caustically, brushing a stray strand of his own thin, silky jet hair behind one ear.

"It's obvious you're just jealous," Harada smirked, but it wasn't something Saitoh would be jealous of, at least not the part that involved Nagakura Shinpachi standing behind him next to naked combing almost lovingly through his luscious locks as he tried to free the foreign object.

Saitoh only snorted derisively.

And that was the thing—not only was Harada's hair excessively long and quite artistic on its own, but it had an uncanny knack for picking up small objects with which it came in contact. That might have helped to explain Nagakura's fascination with it—you never knew what you would find tangled in those tresses from day to day. Some of the more exciting finds included four sticks of _dango_, an Orihime Doll, a coin purse with enough money to buy the whole Shieikan crowd drinks for a night (thank the gods that Kondou and Hijikata were practically teetotalers), and, ironically, a pair of scissors. Today, they had struck the jackpot.

As he gazed at the object that Nagakura had unearthed, Harada vaguely recognized it from the dark _tatami_ on the upper level of the Ikeda Inn last night. Perhaps he had snagged it when he crouched down to see of Okita was okay after the other collapsed? His hair was long enough, and...

It was a small, battered book with no title or anything written on the cover or spine; not even a picture. It looked for all the world like a journal, and at this point, even Saitoh was interested.

"_He makes my heart pound, but I wish we could have met on better circumstances, on the same side of this dispute. Now, if I am to be true to my cause and heart, I must destroy him at all costs..._" Nagakura read aloud, his enthusiasm palpable as he looked up at the others, his eyes sparking with excitement.

"'He' must be the his Lordship the Shogun, and this must be a book of Choushuu secrets just _disguised_ as a sappy diary!" he exclaimed. "Come on, we have to show Hijikata-san!"

"Or maybe it's just a sappy diary without any Choushuu secrets," Saitoh scoffed derisively.

"We shouldn't waste our time on such a stupid thing."

"Mm, I hate to break it to you, Saitoh," Harada rasped, not sounding in the least bit sorry, "but I'm with Shinpachi on this one. The dogs were in such a hurry to leave, I wouldn't be so shocked if they dropped something on their way out. Oh, and it also gives us something interesting to do, at least."

"That's right, you impudent youth," Nagakura glared at Saitoh with mock-sternness. "Better safe than sorry, but even if it's nothing, it gives us an excuse to drag you out and _make_ you be less boring."

"Oh, joy," Saitoh said dryly, then started.

"I can't believe you two—" he snarled, taking off after his friends in a bid to stop them before they got to Hijikata. He was a fast runner but this said nothing of the other two, who weren't half-bad athletes themselves, especially in the _fundoshi_-clad fervor of their "Eureka!" moment.

Hijikata Toshizou was tired, but Nagakura's and Toudou's wounds had been slight, and Okita was going to be fine. He had washed before the others, and had just settled down at the desk in his room, getting ready to write some therapeutic _haiku_ for his nerves when the _shoji _quite literally burst open, making him jump as he was faced down with three of his best captains, all only in their underwear, two out of three with their hair hanging loose. Nagakura had that look that he got when he learned an interesting fact or won a kendo match, and he brandished a small book in his hand; Harada was leaning against the door frame with his head tilted to one side in that expression of lazy nonchalance that he had mastered so well; and Saitoh, well, Saitoh just looked downright _sour_. If looks could kill, Hijikata did not doubt that he would be down to only eight captains by this point, instead of ten.

He did not hesitate to glare back.

"This had better be a joke."

Yukishiro Tomoe was...well, she was _scared_. There was a lot she could take, but this was the one thing that...Himura had already gone out, as soon as he had put his satchel down, packed himself a lunch, and gone to gather healing herbs on the mountain. She still could not wrap her head around the fact that this was the same man, no, youth, that had killed her fiancée—he could be strange and frightening, but he also was human, not a demon, as she had originally thought. He could also be so kind and gentle, she sometimes wondered if that was his true nature.

And in their hurry to leave for the countryside last night, she could not find her diary anywhere in their small cottage. Again, she knew she could deal with a lot, she _had_ dealt with a lot, but she had her diary ever since her mother died. It was her channel, almost like a _friend_, somebody who she could talk to, somebody who would not judge her or offer any empty words.

She hoped Himura had accidentally taken it with his other equipment when he left.

Obsessively, she straightened and organized the few possessions the young "couple" had, sweeping the tatami with the old. battered broom as she waited for her "husband" to come home.

And when he came through the door, dressed like a medicine seller and not a warrior in a dark _yukata_, he had the beginnings of a smile on his face—Tomoe couldn't remember ever seeing him smile before.

He actually looked young; refreshed. And the young woman couldn't help but wonder if their charade would remain as such. The scar on his face didn't matter, none of it mattered but the life in his dark blue eyes.

His uplifted expression dropped as soon as he saw her face.

"What's the matter, Tomoe-san?" he asked shyly, hiding under flame-colored bangs, and she was reminded of his age again as she forced herself to remain controlled.

"Have you...seen my diary anywhere?"

He swallowed hard: he had an idea of how much that diary meant to the woman that he was falling for, and already he had failed her just by doing his damn job...

"I haven't..." he said quietly, barely above a whisper as he searched her pale face with almost pleading blue eyes, but he felt a courage come to him. Surely, if he could hurt so many people, at least he could do his very best to help at least one?

Her eyes were so black.

He did not even try to touch her (maybe she would break).

"But I'll go back to Kyoto, and I'll get it back for you, I promise."

And he was gone when he saw the smallest spark of hope like a star in her beautiful, blank face.


End file.
